Reunion
by CitrusLove
Summary: A fluffy, slightly angsty ficlet. Matt/Mello.


_A/N: A fluffy, flowery little nugget that is here to be nibbled, if anyone wants it. Softly Matt/Mello or Mello/Matt, whichever way you want it. :3_

_DN isn't mine, and Mello and Matt aren't mine to play 'doctor' and 'nurse' with. D:_

* * *

Forked rows of corrugated iron slid into dark gaps as the low groans of a vehicle choking steadied itself. Hair, bright and golden, was swept across a grey face, spaghetti strands hooded as the sun glimpsed briefly before the crowded clouds resumed their cues to relieve. The motorcycle buzzed past the greenery, drab in the early Winchester morning.

The man wrapped in tar-slick skin smiled, ignorant to his own fate, unaware is how we should put it. The grand building, a house, a mansion, greeted his cool eyes of ice as he swung a leg over the engine, boots heavy as they moved to lean the motorcycle against a vine-infested wall.

Grey cement stairs chipped with the wear of youth led him to the entrance, his heart aching in his chest. The man, who was, in fact, barely a man at all, leaned casually to the side of the closure, nerves betraying his posture.

Another face, grey, young, and much too weary, appeared through the glass. The man with a sand-dune crown and shredded skin wondered if the glass's reflection was mocking him, or if Matt's eyes were really that shiny. "Are you going to let me in?"

Matt's face, framed by sunset-auburn bangs, creased for a few moments, eyes insecure, skitty and anxious, before the door opened.

"You've come to get me," he said, and seaweed blue irises locked with ice. "Mello."

Mello shrugged, let himself in, then set off immediately for the dormitories situated on the third floor. Matt followed him up the stairs, their impatient trudging echoing through the halls, ripples of sounds distorting the silence.

Not that either of them genuinely expected anyone to be sleeping; it was quarter to six, and some students may already be studying, or finishing. When they reached the third floor, both moving through tracks they'd already walked together hundreds of times before, both Matt and Mello's legs slowed, and the weight of nostalgia sagged their shoulders into moody submission.

The room they shared, now bare and naked, greeted their gazes. Mello slumped upon the finally tidy bed, the covers drawn up, the pillows plumped, big lips that would suck your head of consciousness. "Its not like I didn't... expect this," Matt began, head against graffitied door. "How long have you been here?" Mello stretched, boots still strapped on tight, on his old mattress.

"Yesterday evening. I drove here from London, after an old friend handed me a small compensation for keeping him out of bedlam for so long," Mello smirked, looking at each of his gloved fingers in turn.

"_Friends?_" Matt scoffed, pressing a finger to the nose of his glasses, "Friends are like phone-calls to you," and Matt breathed a little lower, edging closer, "You sure don't hesitate to ring and hang up when its convenient for you, huh?"

Mello's eyes turned to slits, eyes glinting up like a cat's to meet his accuser, "Before you start pointing the finger of blame, make sure your own hands are clean," a sneer, "Matt."

The air was a frothy stew, curdled in a large cauldron, wicked and green as the ladle spun around and around—never stopping. Matt wouldn't be inhaling any more of Mello's witchery any time soon.

"_Gngh!" _Matt's fist collided with Mello's devil-scorned cheek, and a tumble into the blanket's warm mass allowed the two men, but mind you, barely men, to effectively rob each other of any composure they may have held. Wrestling, punching, kicking, Mello clawing into Matt's silky roots, Matt kneeing into Mello's thighs—until they exhausted. Scratches and bruises aside, it was a warm welcome back.

Gulping up air like a pair of goldfish, each lay side by side, tear tracks running desperately into the pillow's labyrinth. It was silent now, the groans to a minimum, and both found themselves turning to face the other synchronised, frustratingly. Matt spoke first.

"What do we have to do?"

Suddenly, Mello's eyes were pools of water, fairy-lights on a boulevard; Mello's eyes were Christmas, dear, home. Matt found himself gazing unabashedly, fingers drawing indecipherable lines in the dark spaces between.

"Thankyou," Mello whispered, young skin, scarred, broken, digging itself now into the bed. Matt turned him over like a pancake, arm curling itself around Mello's neck and shoulder, softly, because everything still hurt. He'd deliberately closed the door on purpose, because everything between them was so secret, it may have never existed.

-

Time ticked by, and that was fine. As seconds drifted into hours, and sleep kissed each of their eyelids, their hearts beat together, a rhythm.

It sped up as Mello opened his eyes to see Matt's face was ever so close. It slowed down in the very precise moments Mello chose to slip his lips into Matt's softly breathing mouth.

And it continued, according to plan, as Mello drifted back off to sleep, where he would dream dreams of taking Matt's hand and burning the sky.

* * *

_I can't believe I used the word 'pancake' O.O thankyou for reading! xP_


End file.
